


Two Shades of Loyalty

by Katharos



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Oriya, Tsuzuki - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katharos/pseuds/Katharos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kyoto, Hisoka finds himself drawn back to the KoKakuRou - and it's Master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Shades of Loyalty

He lingered in the garden in spirit form, among the flowering Sakura trees, gazing at the old building. Light and music and the mingled laughter of men and women drifted from the front of the building, but here at the back there was only night and stillness, the mellow clunk of the deer-scarer, and a single man lounging upon the veranda, his legs sprawled loosely out in front of him and his back resting against the wall.

From where he stood he could only see the man's side in silhouette, but even so he knew exactly who it was. Involuntarily, a hand drifted up to trace a line across his chest where are a skilled blade had cut him open. Then a voice spoke, jolting him out of the memory.

"If you're not going to leave, come and sit with me."

Hisoka started. And stared. "You knew I was…?"

The man took the stem of his long pipe from his mouth and tilted his head upwards, eyes fixed on the sky as if following the ghostly trail of scented smoke that rose from his pipe's ornate bowl. "I would hope my manners are such that I know how one treats a guest. Even an uninvited one."

Hisoka bristled at the barb, even as he had to glance aside as it struck too true at his unthinking discourtesy in lurking like a thief. His lips thinned as he struggled with himself. The man didn't even look at him as he shifted into physical form and walked stiffly over to join him on the veranda.

As soon as he knelt beside him Oriya placed the stem of his pipe back between his lips and continued smoking quietly, giving no indication that he was even aware he wasn't alone. Hisoka placed his hands on his knees and stared straight out over the garden, examining his companion only through the very corner of his eye.

The man's posture was one of total relaxation and decadence; his back resting against the wall, one leg flung out in front of him, the other tucked up slightly but allowed to fall open. The lush fabric of his clothes pooled on the wooden boards, their deep reds and blues luxuriant; they hung loose and careless from his limbs, revealing his legs as long flashes of white in the dark.

Horrified, Hisoka jerked his eyes away, furiously beating the blush down. He could not even blame his sudden awareness of Oriya's body on feedback from the man's own desire, as had happened in the past.

Oriya's emotions were nothing so coarse. They were subtle things, enfolded by many layered shifting curtains, swaying and billowing in the dark. Only perceptible as vague images pressed against the fabrics, or as brief flashes when the cloth shifted just enough to let them through. And Hisoka felt that if he were to press against those curtains, seeking the mind and heart they veiled, they would engulf him, surround him, gently, tenderly stifle him.

Hisoka could not perceive even a ripple of sex in the others mind, and yet he seemed to exude sensuality simply by sitting there. But because concern for that aspect of himself was far from Oriya's mind Hisoka found his own concern for it fading too, leaving only a distant thought that it was completely unfair that Oriya could wear his hair so long, dress in flowing embroidered robes, adopt effeminate mannerisms, and still be incapable of being taken as anything other than utterly masculine. While Hisoka, who couldn't be less bothered about his appearance beyond that it was neat, remained the only male capable of triggering Terazuma's transformation.

Then even that peevish thought faded and he found himself relaxing into the stillness of the house and garden, and into the soothing deep stillness that was Oriya's presence against his mind.

It all flowed together; the night, the heavy scent of flowers, the sound of the cicadas, the mellow clunk of the deer-scarer and the deep, dark presence beside him. It felt good to sit by another, no matter who that other was, in a silence that was of the mind as well as the ear, and simply enjoy the night.

When Oriya spoke, his words seemed so much a part of his surroundings that Hisoka hardly started, and the air didn't even seem to notice.

"The KoKakuRou is strange place; a place where the earth has chosen to hold its breath. Strangely lovely, and strangely terrible."

"It reminds me of home," Hisoka said quietly, and then wondered what could have pulled those words from him. A brief wind rustled through the Sakura inciting a few stray petals to fall, and pause, and fall again.

"The Meifu?" Oriya tilted his head slightly to one side, never looking at Hisoka. The movement caused some of his long black hair to fall free and sway. "I've heard the sakura bloom eternally there."

"They do," Hisoka admitted, and hesitated. He could leave it at that; it was true, Oriya would accept it, wouldn't push for anything more. Hisoka could feel the other's perfect, indifferent acceptance of anything he chose to say or not to say, and somehow he continued. "But my home, the village… when I was alive, they felt like this."

"Then there is no wonder you came back here," Oriya murmured. "Those of us who are born to places like these, these still pools beyond time… they never quite let us go, do they."

Hisoka glanced sideways at him, disturbed by the thread of bitterness in that voice.

"Tell me," Oriya said suddenly. "You who live among the deathless Sakura of Meifu, what do you think of our humble blooms?" He waved his pipe demonstratively; the slender smoke formed patterns in the air.

Hisoka gave them a brief glance. "They're lovely,."

It was strange how Oriya could make him feel like a bird pinned by a cat's gaze without even glancing at him. "But you don't favour them, do you, boy? So what is your favourite dressing for the trees? What season do you prefer?"

"Autumn," Hisoka said at once, annoyed at the taunting. "When the trees are red."

"So certain!" Oriya exclaimed. "Such certainty begs to be proven – a contest of the seasons! Will you be autumn's champion, boy?" He laughed, as rich and dark as sake shared by a single candle. "Then I shall be winter's!

"Naked trees  
black on the horizon;  
the birds find rest."

Hisoka stared at him, disbelieving for a moment, and then struggled to find his tongue before Oriya could think he'd scored a point.

"The earth is clothed  
in a robe of red and gold  
that quickly fades."

Still not looking at him, Oriya smiled.

"Seamless clouds above  
reflect snow and ice below;  
a bird has bled."

Hisoka froze. Staring down at his hands, he recited harshly;

"Pink blossoms shaded  
by the shadows which hold  
unanswered screams"

Oriya paused, stem of his pipe resting against his shoulder as he gazed into the distance. "Ah, now you have spoilt the game, boy," he sighed.

Hisoka clenched his fists where they rested upon his knees, and his voice was tight when he asked: "Are you always winter's lover when you play this game?"

"Oh yes," Oriya murmured. "He favoured autumn." He paused, his eyes distant as if what he gazed on had no place in this garden or this night. Softly, he recited:

"Reddened leaves,  
the road lies long and chill;  
night brings warmth"

Hisoka stared at him, helpless in fury. "Why?" He demanded. "Why do you – how can you protect him?"

"Do you still hate him, boy?" Oriya asked distantly

"If I tell you yes, are you going to refuse to answer?" Hisoka snapped.

Oriya's chuckle was surprised. "But if you do hate him, and I still tell you, will you listen?"

Hisoka stared down at his clenched fists, fighting his immediate response, thinking. This is why you stayed, he reminded himself. This is what you wanted to know. He looked up. "I'll listen," he said, grudging. "I want to understand."

Oriya sighed a little. "I suppose that will have to do. Very well." He paused as if to gather his thoughts. "I protect him because I am loyal to him. I am loyal to him because he is my friend." He took a draw on his pipe

Silence. Hisoka stared at him. "That's it?"

Oriya blew a smoke ring. "That's it," he admitted cheerfully.

"How? How can he be your friend?" Hisoka demanded.

"Why is your Tsuzuki your friend?"

Hisoka stiffened. "Tsuzuki is nothing like Muraki," he said, deadly quiet.

Oriya's sigh sounded distinctly put upon, which only made Hisoka bristle more. "I didn't say he was, boy. But he's important to you, isn't he? Your loyal to him, you'd protect him – as I protect Muraki, who is important to me."

Shocked Hisoka stared at him, stunned into silence. When he found his voice again he spoke slowly, carefully. "If Tsuzuki did the kinds of things Muraki did, of his own free will without being forced… I wouldn't protect him."

At last Oriya turned to look at him; his voice sounded truly curious as he asked; "Aren't you saying that your friendship is conditional? That you'll only be loyal to him if he remains a certain way?"

Hisoka glared. "I'll always care for him," he snapped. "But I won't help him do something I know he'd hate himself for."

"But if he was doing it freely," Oriya pointed out, "He probably wouldn't hate himself for it."

Hisoka's eyes narrowed. "I'd hit him until he got his head straight again."

"According to your definition of straight."

"Yes," Hisoka snapped, "Because that's what he asks me to do." Seeing Oriya about to make another point he quickly turned the argument back at him. "Do you agree with what Muraki does?"

Oriya snorted. "Do you think I let anyone else who has done what he has done into my house?

"Then why do you accept _him_?" Hisoka asked, frustrated.

Oriya tilted his head, his eyes narrow and focused, and something sharp flashed among those curtains and was gone. "Because that is my loyalty to him. That I will always accept him and make him welcome no matter what he does."

Hisoka stared at his for a long moment and looked away. "Maybe I am selfish," he said quietly. "He wanted to die. I didn't want him to, I stopped him from dying, and maybe that was selfish but he's alive and –"

"And still suffering?"

Hisoka flinched, but held Oriya's gaze stubbornly. "He thanked me."

"Strange," Oriya said softly. "I never tried to stop Muraki from doing what he wished. I only promised that I'd cry for him when he was gone. And I hoped that promises, friendship like that… would be enough to make him want to stay."

"You really don't care, do you?" Hisoka asked quietly. _Tsuzuki, Tsubaki-hime, Mariko, Maki… Me._ "You really don't care about what he's done to people."

"Of course I care," Oriya said simply. He carried on before Hisoka could say anything. "I just care about Muraki more." He huffed out a breath. "And I'm not trying to convince you that Muraki is worth that or anything else because you wouldn't believe anything I told you about the man – I'm intimately acquainted with thick skulled stubbornness. You asked why I protect him and I think you've been more than answered. If I charged by the word I could retire now."

Oriya leaned back against the wall and gazed at him calmly from his tangle of bright silks, long pipe balanced loosely in one hand. "You're loyal to your friend and I'm loyal to mind. Maybe we have different definitions of loyalty, but can you accept that?"

Hisoka drew in a breath to say no, to say that there was no way he could accept anything like it – but. He could accept that he was loyal to Tsuzuki, couldn't he? And that sometimes he acted in ways he would otherwise concerned unreasonable because of it. And Tsuzuki was nothing like Muraki but – he could understand that friendship sometimes made people act in strange ways. "Yes," he said, very quietly.

Oriya nodded once. "Good," he said cheerfully. "Now I believe you should leave – I am expected to put in an appearance shortly and I suspect if you stay we could argue all night."

Hisoka opened his mouth to argue – then realised what he was doing, stopped, and side. Instead he bowed and formally said, "Thank you for hospitality."

Rising, he hesitated. "Oriya-san," he said quietly, "Muraki-"

Oriya held up a hand. "Don't," he said. "If he is dead, then I must let him go, which I cannot. If he is alive, and he hasn't come, the only reason can be that he doesn't want to."

Hisoka swallowed once, and bowed his head in acknowledgement of that stark gaze.

He rose and began to gather power to himself to make the transition back to Meifu; then hesitated again. "Oriya-san, would you be willing to permit me to spar with you sometime?"

Oriya laughed, a brief, sharp flash of teeth. "You have enough skill that it would be my pleasure, boy."

Hisoka stole one last look at him where he stood outlined in moonlight, before he transported himself back to the Meifu and to Tsuzuki.

A bright, fallen flower of strength and steel among the trees.


End file.
